


Broken Stars

by nineofwords



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, Gen, Human Experimentation, M/M, Multi, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-21 00:04:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14272479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nineofwords/pseuds/nineofwords
Summary: An alternate universe where the Transformers characters are all humans with X-Men-esque powers gained when they were abducted by the Quintessons and experimented on. The experimentation wiped nearly all their memories, forcing them to try and rebuild however they could after their escape from captivity. But after a split over fundamental ideological differences, the Autobots and Decepticons are now locked in constant conflict as each side tries to rebuild in what they find to be the "correct" way. Heaven help the humans who get caught in the crossfire.A long-term fic project I'm working on solo while my usual writing partner leads a very busy life.





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm writing this sans my usual editor. I ask for your patience with any typos/confusing sentence structure, etc. on my part. And if you want to point any of those issues you notice out to me, I'll definitely appreciate it, because I'm TERRIBLE at editing my own stuff. The lovely Jideni usually handles that stuff, but is swamped with life for the foreseeable future.
> 
> There's no clear update schedule as of yet, because posting this chapter is an attempt to motivate myself to write more, but my goal is to post a chapter once a month at least.
> 
> I'm going to try to keep graphic description of violence to a minimum, but by the very nature of this fic, there is a LOT of violence. Some of it incredibly casual, some of it verbal rather than physical, so consider this a general warning for that. And we start with the casual violence early on. I'll post warnings over the chapters that get more graphic than usual, though. There shouldn't be a need for other most other content warnings, but if you notice something that I've missed outside of the category of violence, let me know and I'll slap it in the notes at the beginning. If I do post a specific content warning, I'll also post a brief summery in the notes at the end - that way, you can figure out for yourself if you're in the right headspace to tackle something that's a particularly difficult subject for you.
> 
> Okay, this is my baby. I hope you enjoy it. As always, thank you for reading.

_Should the flower of Love_

_Ever bloom in Hell_

_It would surely wither and die_

 

_But should it live_

_And instead grow strong_

_It would surely to Heaven fly_

\- a soldier's poem to his belovéd

* * *

In the beginning, there were the Quintessons. They were the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega. When they spoke, their words became a weight, an inescapable reality to their vast armies. Individuality was an impossibility, free will was a concept beyond the scope of the universe. All that existed was the here and now that the Quintessons decreed.

And the here and now that was decreed was war. Conflict. Whether it was against other Quintesson armies or the hapless inhabitants of alien worlds, it didn’t matter. The armies were, each and every one, hardened by endless confrontations. Endless raids to capture and convert and process new aliens into the army’s buzzing hive-mind. The process was always the same, always brought the chaos of life to that sweet, simplistic clarity of obey, capture, kill. And it was easy; one little serum, one prick of a needle, and all that pesky personality withered and died in the wake of the sheer power of the Quintessons.

_All. Hail. Quintessa._

* * *

They stared down at Earth. Hate in their eyes.

“Report,” they said, their voices like snakes sliding over dead leaves as they spoke in unison, five voices as one.

A Prosecutor stepped forward, trembling. It kept tapping the casing of its datapad nervously as it scrolled through it.

“Since the fall of the _Ark Nemesis_ , we’ve managed to salvage a few experiments, Your Honor. Our scientists have recently isolated the unstable element in their DNA and...well, stabilized it.” It gestured with one of its many arms, and two humans stepped into the dim light of the bridge, their lower faces obscured by mechanical contraptions. One of them was a giant, sick-looking man, with claws of flesh in place of hands. The other was more normal in size, although he was completely covered from head to toe by armor. “These are a sample the result.”

The Judge didn’t turn from their view of Earth. “Four out of forty thousand?” The Prosecutor flinched, and the two faces that were pointed at him jeered. “Yes, we read the report, Prosecutor. You’ll have to forgive us, then, if we fail to be impressed.” The Prosecutor shrunk into itself, and the Judge swirled on their tentacles, letting all of their five pairs of eyes linger meaningfully on the Prosecutor once before settling once more. “And what’s more, your claims of stabilization in the past have always ended in failure. Our findings show that any soldier with so much as a vestige of its personality will, on the whole, find a way to fail us. You have allowed _these_ ” and here they gestured with a tentacle to the humans “to retain their _entire_ personalities. How can you then justify calling them soldiers of the Honorable Quintesson Army?”

The Prosecutor took a deep breath, the tips of its tentacles scuttling nervously. “For starters, your Honor, this is not entirely true. Diode - that is, Nebulan drone TFt7O - was allowed to mix among the experiments. He began to develop what could be called a personality, before his demise, and yet his handling of the humans was at the standard level of efficiency you would demand of one of your units. As you can see, there is precedence of drones with personalities fulfilling their roles appropriately.”

“There is also precedence of a benevolent Quintesson,” the Judge said demurely. “And yet we do not bank on the impossible. Have you other evidence to present to us, or shall we skip this charade and simply hand down our verdict?”

“I...Of course I have more evidence to present,” the Prosecutor said nervously. “In fact,I...I would like to present your honor with a demonstration, if I may.”

The Judge considered that a moment, their many tentacles swaying in contemplation. “We will permit a demonstration to be presented as evidence,” they finally allowed.

The Prosecutor bowed low before beginning. “Unit NCf8F.” It gestured, and the larger one stepped forward into the dim light of the bridge, a hulking, brutish monstrosity. His skin was a sickly, sticky sort of pale, an impression that the low Quintesson lights only reinforced. His face and body were covered, but his arms were bare, showing pock-marks, scabs, scars, welts, burns, and all manner of other blemishes on his skin. His arms ended at long, blunt, crab-like claws covered in that same sickly, injured-looking skin.

“Unit XYq6J.” The smaller man stepped forward as well. The fact that he was small and slight was the only truly defining feature about him. He was covered head to toe in armor, which was unadorned, and he wore like the soldier he was. He looked like a toy next to the larger man.

“Unit NCf8F. Hold unit XYq6J still. Make sure he cannot move.” The big man stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller one. Their size difference would be funny if it didn’t look so cruel.

“Unit XYq6J. Can you move?” the Prosecutor asked.

Unit XYq6J took a moment to figure that out. Finally, he responded with “No.”

“Excellent,” the Prosecutor replied, humming slightly. “XYq6J, I order you to free yourself.”

For a moment, there was silence and stillness on the bridge. Then the smaller man began to twitch in the bigger man’s grip, to whimper. His sounds of duress grew steadily louder, steadily more desperate. He began bashing his head against unit NCf8F in a pathetic attempt to get him to loosen his grip. His whimpering gradually turned to screams, and around the edges of his mask tears began to leak out.

The Judge winced at the noise. “Unit XYq6J, disregard my last order,” the Prosecutor said, turning to glance meaningfully at the Judge. Immediately the agonized screaming stopped. “In its place, I order you to injure yourself.”

Still bound by NCf8F, there was silence as XYq6J began chewing through his own tongue. Blood quickly followed the thin trails left by the tears only moments ago.

“Thank you, XYq6J. You may stop.” There was no apparent change to XYq6J, except that the flow of blood down his face slackened. The Prosecutor turned to the Judge, looking triumphant. “As you can see, failing to obey my order caused the unit more duress than an actual physical injury.” It made some swiping gestures on its datapad, and strange graphs and symbols appeared in the middle of the room. “The brains of these particular beings are primitive, at best. These aliens are so fundamentally stupid, that their brains actually have to produce addictive chemicals to get them to perform basic functions for their own survival.” The Prosecutor chuckled as though this was hilarious. None of the five faces of the Judge seemed impressed by this particular joke. The Prosecutor quickly recovered its composure and gestured along its datapad again to bring some of the charts and glyphs into sharper focus. “We, with our superior technology, have found a way to tap into that process.”

“Our superior technology, and the assistance of some insignificant alien,” one of the faces sneered.

“Ah...yes…a most excellent point, your Honorableness.” The Prosecutor swallowed hard.  “It is true that the specimens we pulled from the initial experiment to assist us in maintaining the integrity of the whole batch gave us new insight into this particular species’ physiology. However, your Honor, _we_ have perfected it.” It swiped a tentacle across its datapad, and new data replaced the old, floating in the center of the room in eerie green 3D holograms. They were accompanied by two small alien figures. Both had stooped shoulders, and strange proportions. One was a hulking, brooding-looking figure, and the other was thin and sleek-looking. “Based on the initial success with the humans, we remade some serum samples for further testing. We reprocessed a number of drones, and this was the one with whom we had the most success.”

“Then why do we see two of our drones before us,” the Judge demanded, “if only one was truly a success? _If_ you may even call such a thing as personality a _success_ ,” one head muttered as an afterthought.

“Unit JYk3U is a symbian,” the Prosecutor said hurriedly. “We were unaware her consort’s bond to her survived both of their processing. When we introduced JYk3U to the new serum, the bond she had with her consort - which we had thought long deteriorated - reestablished itself. The good news is that JYk3U is utterly loyal to us, and HCi6O is utterly loyal to her, and understands that disobeying us will have...dire consequences for her.” Its smile was predatory.

“Symbids,” the Judge said, their tentacles flicking with distaste. “I’ve never understood the point of a species that evolves with codependence.”

“Yet another sign of the superiority of _our_ species,” the Prosecutor said smugly.

“Mmm,” the Judge hummed dubiously. “And yet _you_ continue to fail us in the simple task of finding a single Quintesson. The selfsame Quintesson who is keeping us from destroying that worthless mudball!” The Judge snapped one of their tentacles at the viewport, where Earth was floating, rotating languidly in space.

The Prosecutor backed up in fear. “That’s...that’s not…” The Prosecutor frantically tapped on his datapad. “Your Honor, please, I beg of you - ”

“We grow weary of your excuses,” the Judge hissed, advancing towards the Prosecutor, slashing a tentacle through the holograms that the Prosecutor was trying to pull up. “ _You_ were in charge when you allowed our experiments to overthrow our Quintessons on the _Ark Nemesis_ . _You_ were the one who failed to bring those experiments back. You have failed us time after times, and we begin to question what you are doing in your position that justifies your constant failure.”

“It isn’t a Quintesson who is setting off the safety features,” the Prosecutor babbled, abruptly finding itself backed against the wall. “It’s one of the failed experiments.”

“How does this make you any less of a failure in our eyes?” the Judge roared. “How does this prevent you from being _demoted_?”

“Because we’re not being intentionally sabotaged,” the Prosecutor gasped, shrinking in on itself, “which means I can fix this! And...and because I have a plan!” It cringed, waiting to be struck by the Judge.

The blow never came. The Judge stood there, their tentacles fluttering. “We are intrigued,” the Judge said quietly. “Tell us your plan, and we shall decide what to do with you from there.”

The Prosecutor took a deep breath and slowly began to outline someone else’s plan.

* * *

The brig on the _Fanged Glory_ was a typical Quintesson brig. Any who displeased the Quintesson superiors were tried in court, if the Judge happened to be on hand. If not, the Prosecutor would make a ruling. Often, he’d simply forgo it, as they all ended with a guilty verdict, regardless of evidence. Guilty verdicts were handled simply: The defendant had their hands tied behind their backs, and were dropped off a plank into the shark pit (they often picked the most dangerous animals off the last planet they’d visited. Sharks were their current favorites). If the defendant survived, and made it to the other side, they were let out by a bailiff. If they didn’t? Well, if they couldn’t outswim a few sharks, was there really anyone who would miss them?

The perfected experiments of the Head Prosecutor - sarcastically known by Quintessons as “the Generals” - were, on the whole, obedient, efficient, and an - albeit experimental and conditional - asset to the Quintesson armies. That was the only reason Generals SXg2V and PXb2P hadn’t already been demoted, a gentle euphemism for total annihilation.

SXg2V was already sitting on the small ledge by the exit door. She let her feet dangle in the water, splashing them every now and again. Her clothes clung to her thin frame, her heavy skirt hanging even more limply than usual. Her pigtails had already dried, however, and bounced as she bobbed her head back and forth to the tune she was humming to herself.

A dark figure appeared in the water, and SXg2V smiled. She watched the figure climb steadily towards the surface of the water, aiming itself straight for her.

PXb2P burst through the surface with an enormous gasp for air.

“Seven minutes,” SXg2V said, testing how dry her skirt was with her hand. “Don’t tell me one of the sharks actually _got_ you.”

PXb2P bobbed in the water, pulling his visor off to rub the water out of his eyes. “They’re all too scared to come near me anymore,” he complained. “Do you know how hard it is to cut the ropes when the only sharp thing in that damn water runs away from you?” He grinned, flashing brilliantly white teeth. “Besides, I just beat my own record for holding my breath.”

“Oh, seven minutes?” SXg2V said, her voice dripping with false pity. “Sylvie, that’s so cute! Mine is eight and a half.”

“Don’t call me Sylvie,” PXb2P snapped, pulling himself up out of the water. A vibrant red scarf trailed along after him, and when he pulled himself up onto the ledge, his blue and brightly patterned dress came up after him. “What did you get thrown in for this time, you sadistic little bitch?” PXb2P asked. “Did you slice open a drone, put something inside him, and stitch him back up again? The Head Prosecutor was very clear he was going to start frowning on that kind of thing.”

“No,” SXg2V said snidely. “A fucking Bailiff busted my gladiator ring. Apparently it’s ‘illegal’ and a ‘waste of resources’, and ‘a spit in the eyes of the Honorable Judge’, and I should ‘let myself drown in the brig in penance’.” Her use of air quotes was generous, and she rolled her eyes dramatically once she was done. “Frankly, I was surprised a Bailiff even _knew_ more than five words.”

“Well when you start killing drones, you’re bound to make a few of our slippery masters cranky,” PXb2P pointed out reasonably, wringing out his soaked scarf.

“You’re not better than me,” SXg2V said defensively. “I’ve seen the numbers. You’ve been in here more than _I_ have.”

“Guess you’re not as badass as you thought,” PXb2P said with a nasty grin, “if I get thrown in here _more_ than you.”

“ _I’m_ just not so dumb that I let myself get caught!” SXg2V snarled. “Unlike a brainless flier.”

PXb2P shrugged languidly, his smile predatory. “But getting caught is half the fun!” he purred with delight.

SXg2V rolled her eyes. “Fuck off Sylvie.”

“Don’t call me Sylvie,” PXb2P snarled.

“Tell me why you’re in here, shithead, and I’ll think about it.”

PXb2P just smirked, and jerked his chin at the door. “How long have you been waiting for a Bailiff to come around?”

“Only half a day, so it’ll still be ages,” SXg2V replied. “Now, are you going to keep avoiding my questions with your own, or are you going to tell me why you’re so _very_ pleased with yourself?”

“Who says I’m pleased with myself?” PXb2P asked, smiling broadly.

SXg2V shoved her hand into PXb2P’s face. “This... _monstrosity_ looks exactly like the rat with cheese in its whiskers, and it’s creeping me out. More than it usually does.”

PXb2P shoved her hand away roughly.

“What. Did. You. _Do_?” SXg2V demanded.

“Weeeell,” PXb2P said, too pleased with himself to keep it to himself, unable to keep a self-satisfied smirk off his face. “I _may_ have broken into the Head Prosecutor’s office on a whim. And I _may_ have poked around in its confidential files while I was there.”

“Okay, I’m bored,” SXg2V said, turning back to dangling her toes in shark-infested waters. “If you didn’t want to tell me, you should’ve just led with that.”

“Luckily for us, my attention span isn’t as short as yours,” PXb2P said dryly, “because based on what I found, I came up with an excuse for us to get dirtside.”

SXg2V’s eyes lit up, and her smile was enormous as she whirled to grin maniacally at PXb2P. “I swear by the Honorable Judge most high, I _will_ eviscerate you if you’re shitting me.”

PXb2P leaned towards her. “It’s a crazy plan, one I knew would never be signed off on. So I snuck into one of the Head Prosecutor’s little pep talks to the rest of the Quinty crew, and explained it to the trembly little squid. In front of the whole. Damn. Crew.” His grin was singularly sit-eating.

SXg2V threw her head back and laughed. “Fucking _hell_ , J, I’m surprised it didn’t drop you in the brig in _pieces_!”

“I knew it’d be reasonable if I only explained the plan to it properly,” PXb2P agreed. “And since I did it in front of everyone, the Head Prosecutor either risks losing face, or having someone go to the Judge behind its back and getting demoted. It’s an easy choice, really.”

“You sly little bitch!” SXg2V crowed. “You sneaky, subtle, scheming, maniacal asshole!”

“Flattery will get _you_ nowhere, you horrid little half-breed.”

“I'm more human than you," SXg2V retorted. "Now spill your master plan,” she commanded, punching PXb2P harder than necessary. “Who do I get to kill?”

“Darling, _please_ give me more credit than that,” PXb2P said. “The front door approach has _never_ gotten _me_ anywhere, and it certainly hasn’t gotten our dear overlords anywhere either. The closest it’s gotten them is a few semi-successful scouting trips. Now maybe I’m just picky, but that’s not really good enough for me.”

“Uuuugh, why are you such a _windbag_?” SXg2V moaned. “Just tell me your damn plan, you shiteater!”

“You’re a smart little psycho,” PXb2P pointed out. “I’m sure you can figure it out all on your own.”

She leaned in toward him. “It’s going to involve subterfuge. Backstabbing. You’ve got _such_ a hard-on for that kind of shit.” She tilted her head. “A spy?”

“And bingo was her name-o,” PXb2P sang with a small smile. “That is in fact step one of my grand master plan.”

“So tell me the rest,” SXg2V coaxed. “I want to know when we get to the me killing people part.”

“You can kill people whenever you want,” PXb2P pointed out reasonably. “You’ll just have to deal with getting thrown in the brig for it.”

“Ugh, fine,” SXg2V said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall. “You don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine. You can just go right ahead and fuck yourself, Sylvie.”

With a sudden, violent motion, PXb2P grabbed SXg2V’s arm at the wrist. Hidden in the folds of her skirt were long, thin knives, and he sliced her hand open on one of them before shoving her aggressively back into the water of the shark tank. “Don’t. Call. Me. Sylvie,” he snarled through gritted teeth. He watched as her figure began to sink into the water, surrounded by ominous shapes, a thin trickle of red marking her descent. “I hope you fucking drown,” he muttered at her, then turned his attention back to the door, slipping his visor back over his eyes.


	2. JYk3U

_ Symbids were not known for peace. The females excelled at the strategy of war, exerting their dominance and willpower. The males, with their psychic reliance on the females around them, acting as mindless pawns in the shifting conquests. _

_ Many females proved their superiority with the number of males they could command at a time. The more males they could bond themselves to without making themselves sick, the stronger they were. These males were merely extensions of the female’s own person, little more than mouthpieces. But not everyone chose this route. Some chose to have only a few males, to allow them to develop the beginnings of personalities as a sign of their strength. Of their will. _

_ One female in particular - a mighty general, leader of the Pleon army, subduer of the Seven Cohorts of the Plains - had but a single male consort. He had a name. An entire personality. He was allowed to command females. There had not been anyone strong enough to bend him against his lady’s will. _

_ And then the day came when the Quintessons arrived. _

_ Her planet had been chosen to be processed into the great Quintesson army. The custom was to take a sample of the population, to ensure that the serum would have the desired effect (they didn’t want a repeat of the Nebulan Incident; the loss of seventy-five percent of subjects due to something as simple as an allergic reaction was unacceptable, and all of the lead Scientists on that ship had been demoted). The great Pleon leader was among the first batch. They injected her. They took her free will. Will was everything to a symbid. _

_ She could feel herself slipping away, could feel her connection to her consort breaking down. She could feel it taking her mind. Her memories. Her will. Till she was nothing more than a shell, to go through the motions of endless war of the Quintessons. Around her, the eyes of males went blank as their females lost their will. The last of her seethed at the indignity of it all, screamed in fury and impotence. But she had been chosen. Her  _ planet _ had been chosen. And it was an  _ honor _ to be chosen by the Quintessons. The highest of honors. _

_ She was dimly aware as her masters decided there was no need to administer the serum to the males, for as soon as the females were converted, the males were as tame and drone-like as anyone else. She had no feelings on this matter one way or the other. She had no feelings left. _

_ The last step of the process involved being given her serial code and sorted into one of three classes. Like the other females of her species, JYk3U was made into a Tank; these were the largest of the Quintesson foot soldiers, made even larger by a steady diet of steroids, lacking finesse or much tech, but making up for it with pure, bloody, raw force. Most males were slated to be Riders; small, sleek soldiers, outfitted with wheels and motors, and injections to speed up their reaction times, making them nigh on impossible to outrun. HCi6O, the drone who had once been her consort, was too big to be a Rider. He was a Flier; agile soldiers, given tech and body modifications to soar through the air, and administered drugs that allowed them to withstand massive amounts of g-forces and suppress the inevitable nausea. JYk3U couldn’t be brought to care about HCi6O, but she couldn’t seem to shake the habit of keeping tabs on him, either. _

_ Inevitably, the Quints turned their all-seeing eyes upon a new species to enslave: The humans of Earth. At first, their processing seemed to be going as planned, when suddenly, the procedure stopped. The constant war ground to a halt as the Quints began to grow more and more engrossed in their new toys. She wasn’t even on their primary ship, and yet the effects of these new forces reached her, lost though she was in the effects of the serum. _

_ Then came the day in which she was called to the main ship, into the Head Prosecutor’s office. Reconditioning, was what he called it, though not to her. After all, she wasn’t a symbian, not any longer. Merely a drone, who could not even begin to comprehend what was happening to her. He spoke of her, not to her, and when he ordered her to submit to the reconditioning, the idea that there was any other option ceased to exist. _

_ The reconditioning was as brutal and effective as everything else which the Quintessons did. And yet, when it was over… _

_ Male symbids had not been given the serum. In the absence of any other will on board their ships, they blindly followed the orders of any Quintesson in the vicinity. And so when her will was returned to her, her hold over her consort returned as well. _

_ And  _ he  _ remembered  _ everything _. _

_ A scientist was hovering over her, looking disinterestedly at a datapad, rather than at her when her memories came flooding back, her will, her drive, her ambition all snapped back into place. “State your rank and designation,” it commanded, sounding bored, unaware of the danger that lay on the table before it. _

_ She sat up slowly, feeling as though she was settling back into a body she had vacated for a long time. “I am a former General of the Pleon army,” she said quietly, which immediately brought the scientist’s attention to her. She stared him straight in the eyes and said with contempt “And my  _ designation _ is Strika.” She raised her head, relishing the horror in the Quintesson’s eyes as it realized she remembered who she was. “And you  _ will  _ bring me my consort. You will bring me Obsidian.” _

_ When it didn’t jump to do her bidding, she leaned threateningly over it. “You will do so  _ now _.” _

_ It scuttled out of the room. It wouldn’t return - it would not be able to distinguish which male symbid had once been known as Obsidian (the Quintessons were not known for their record-keeping) and it would be too ashamed to have been cowed by a mere drone to show its face around her again. But Obsidian knew her sentience had returned. He would seek her out. And once they were together, they could begin planning. Strategizing. It could be as it had always been. Nothing would ever be the same again, but at least they were no longer mindless slaves. _

_ They would still be obey the Quintessons, she knew. Still, they could bargain for a position over the drones. They would never again be masters of their fates, but they could at least hold the fates of others. That would be something. After all, war was infinitely more fun for Strika and Obsidian when  _ they  _ were the ones running it. _


End file.
